


These scars I can't erase

by Tovarich



Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [26]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Good Omens Celebration 2020, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Tenderness, The Fall (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovarich/pseuds/Tovarich
Summary: Crowley always said he had only sauntered vaguely downward. The truth was that he hadn't been ready to admit the reality of it, at least not out loud. Not to anyone else. But he could still feel the pain of it, in his soul and in his bones. The scars on his back and on his ribs were just the physical reminder of the violence of that event.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727137
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	These scars I can't erase

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt of day 26 of the Good Omens Celebration was "Scars". Honestly, that was almost an invitation for me to write angst. Please read the tags, and don't hesitate telling me if I need to add additional trigger warnings. I hope you'll enjoy reading this!

Aziraphale watched Crowley as the demon was standing in front of the window in the living room of his flat above the bookshop. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his face blank and his eyes fixed on something far away. He looked tense, his jaw was clenched, his hands were shaking. There was that haunted look in his eyes. Aziraphale had seen Crowley display similar behaviour several times through their six thousand years on Earth, but since the Apocalypse didn't happen and they spent considerably more time together, he was forced to notice how often it happened to Crowley. The redhead always refused to talk about it when questioned, and Aziraphale didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He tried to offer silent support, to let Crowley know that he would be there to listen when Crowley would be ready to talk. But that was all he could do. The angel prepared two mugs of hot cocoa and put one on the windowsill and went back to the couch with his own cup. He wanted to touch Crowley, to hug him, to show him love and comfort, but he knew from experience that Crowley didn't react well to physical contact when he was like this. The last time Aziraphale had tried to touch him, Crowley had retracted his hand as if he had been burned. He had pushed Aziraphale with strength Aziraphale didn't know Crowley possessed and pushed himself against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor with his legs held tightly against his chest. Crowley had been hyperventilating, shaking uncontrollably. Looking at Aziraphale as if he didn't see him. Aziraphale never wanted to cause his beloved such distress.

After what felt like hours, Crowley took the mug with slow, jerky movements. The cocoa always seemed to help a bit, bringing him back to reality. Maybe it was the familiarity of it, maybe it was its association with Aziraphale, with home, with safety. Whatever it was, Aziraphale always made sure Crowley had a mug of the warm beverage nearby when he found him in this state. After a few more seconds, Crowley slowly walked to join Aziraphale on the couch, sitting beside him. They were far enough not to touch, but close enough that Crowley could feel Aziraphale's heat. The angel took a fluffy blanket from the back of the couch and draped it across Crowley's shoulders, making sure his fingers didn't brush Crowley's skin. He always waited for Crowley to make the first move, to shift slightly to get closer from him or take his hand or ask Aziraphale to hold him. This time, Crowley tilted his head until it rested on the angel's chest without a single word. When he was sure it was alright, the angel started combing his fingers through Crowley's hair, slowly, softly. Crowley sighed, closing his eyes.

"Thank you for being here, angel," Crowley mumbled, voice tired.

"Always my dear. I'll always be here for you," Aziraphale replied, trying to put as much sincerity in his voice as he could to erase any potential persisting doubt in Crowley's mind.

Crowley hummed appreciatively, enjoying the steady rhythm of Aziraphale's heartbeat against his ear. "I don't deserve you," he murmured.

He always said that, whenever Aziraphale did something for him. At first, Aziraphale paid it no mind, thinking it was just a figure of speech. It was something humans said all the time after all. But with time it became clear to him that the statement was more than that, that it held more depth, more insecurity too. And it broke Aziraphale's heart to think that his beloved thought he wasn't worth every kind gesture, every expression of love that Aziraphale offered him.

"Now, dear, I don't ever want to hear that again," Aziraphale admonished, his tone firm but kind. "Crowley, can you look at me please?"

Crowley groaned but grudgingly complied, sitting straight and looking in Aziraphale's eyes.

"Thank you." Aziraphale smiled and cupped Crowley's cheek. "Crowley, I want you to listen attentively to what I'm going to say," Aziraphale said, waiting for Crowley to nod before he continued. "You're my precious darling, my wily old serpent, my dearly beloved. You're my best friend, the love of my life. I need you to know this, Crowley. You deserve everything, all my love, all my affection. Because I love you, my sweet darling. I love you with all I am. My clever, beautiful, wonderful demon. Don't ever forget that."

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, searching his face as if looking for a sign that Aziraphale was lying. He still found it hard to believe that Aziraphale loved him so much, so unconditionally. He had never thought he would get to feel so adored, so wanted. He was a demon after all. Something filthy, living in the shadows. Something hateful, unforgivable. And if he wasn't able to like himself, how could anyone else feel anything else than revulsion for him? It still troubled him. Of course, he loved Aziraphale. He loved the angel so much it hurt, and it scared him sometimes. But there was nothing not to love in Aziraphale, he was a literal angel! Aziraphale was kind and thoughtful and a just enough of a bastard to make him fun and interesting. Crowley could feel his eyes prickle with the threat of tears. He didn't have the strength to fight them, he felt exhausted from the constant war he was waging against himself. He needed comfort and warmth. And so, when his tears inevitably started falling, he let himself be pulled in a tight hug by Aziraphale, wrapping his own arms around the angel's soft waist.

"I love you, angel. I love you so much. Thank you," he said between sobs, voice fragile and muffled against Aziraphale's chest.

Crowley didn't even have the energy to feel ashamed for showing weakness, for not being strong enough to keep it together. Aziraphale's arms were rubbing circles on his back, his mouth was whispering words he was too distracted and tired to understand. He felt warm, he felt safe. Aziraphale never made fun of him for crying or needing reassurance, instead he encouraged Crowley to show his emotions instead of keeping everything inside. It was a radical change from his experience with other demons. In Hell, compassion was a fault, crying was a weakness and it would be exploited as such. He had a suspicion that things weren't very different in Heaven. And Crowley knew that Aziraphale hid a lot of things behind his smiles, too. Sometimes he could see the overflowing sadness in those clear blue eyes, but they always stayed dry. Crowley wanted Aziraphale to feel safe enough to cry in his arms too, and the angel did, sometimes. But not as often as he probably needed. Neither of them was very good at showing their feelings.

Aziraphale tilted Crowley's head upward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead. There were tears in his eyes, too. Some already sliding down his round cheeks, dripping from his chin. The sight was too much for Crowley. He buried his face in Aziraphale's neck, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs as he clung to Aziraphale's shirt. The sight of Aziraphale crying, so open and vulnerable, all for Crowley's eyes to see was devastating. There was love in those eyes, pure and powerful. There was love and compassion and unwavering determination to show Crowley how cherished and precious he was. And it was all too much, and at the same time it had been exactly what Crowley desperately needed.

"I love you, Crowley. I love you and I'll always be here for you. I used to be scared, I used to think I could protect you by keeping you at arm's length. Now I know I never want to push you away ever again. I'll keep holding you close, for however long you need. I'll keep holding your hand, wherever our path might lead us. I'll be walking beside you, we'll be strong, together. I promise you, my darling." There was something fierce in Aziraphale's voice, something hard like iron but soft and warm like the blanket that was still wrapped around Crowley's shoulders. And Crowley basked in the security of those strong, gentle arms.

They would be strong together. That's what Aziraphale had said. And it made Crowley want to talk about the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind for millennia, the treacherous tricks of his mind that tortured him. He wanted to open his mouth and let the words flow, let the pain seep out of him by every pore. But did he have any right to do that? Did he have any right to burden Aziraphale with the weight of his painful past? There was still doubt gnawing at him, tormenting him, keeping his lips sealed.

Aziraphale seemed to sense his hesitation. Sometimes Crowley hated how perceptive Aziraphale could be, even when he played dumb. This time, however, he was serious when he said, "Crowley, my dear. You don't have to do this alone anymore. You don't have to carry this burden alone anymore. Whatever is haunting you, you can share it with me. We're on our side, my love. For better or for worse, we're on our side, and I'll always be by your side. Let me help you, please."

Crowley took a deep breath, he wanted to talk, but more than anything, he wanted to be honest with Aziraphale. "Angel," he said, "I trust you and I love you. I will talk to you, but I don't think I can do it right now."

And Aziraphale understood. He always did. And he always knew how to make things better, how to put back the glint of joy in Crowley's eyes. It was a beautiful day outside, the perfect weather for a walk in the park. And Aziraphale knew Crowley would need something that didn't require too much energy, where he could be alone with Aziraphale and just forget everything for a while.

"How about we go feed the ducks?" Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley thanked him silently with a grateful smile.

* * *

Feeding the ducks was what they always did when one of them needed a mindless activity, something that made them happy, where they could just talk and laugh and bask in each other's presence. Whenever one of them was feeling down and the weather allowed it, they took a walk in the park and sat on their usual bench to feed the ducks. Sometimes they ate ice cream too. On their bench, they could pretend that everything was alright, and for a few perfect moments, it really was. It was like a truce, a break from reality, as if once they walked through the park gates, they entered another world where their problems ceased to exist. And that was exactly what Crowley had needed.

"Do you remember," Aziraphale began, already chuckling at the memory, "do you remember that time a duck stole your hat?"

Crowley remembered; it was as embarrassing as it was hilarious. "That little bastard was too reckless for its own good," he said with a grimace of disdain.

"As I remember, it still outwitted you, though," Aziraphale said with a smirk.

Crowley gasped, looking outraged. "How dare you? Betraying me like this, angel, that's low. Sometimes I wonder whose side you're on!"

Aziraphale giggled and Crowley couldn't hold back his own chuckle.

"Still, dear, you tried to bargain with a duck. You tried to convince it to give you your hat back. I don't know what you were expecting."

"Didn't expect it to just turn around and walk into the damned pond with my hat in its beak," Crowley mumbled, although he couldn't contain the laughter bubbling in his chest.

Crowley patted Crowley's back in what could have been a sympathetic gesture if he wasn't laughing so hard. "You looked so miserable, dear!"

"Hey!" Crowley exclaimed, "I tried to look nice for you and you, ungrateful bastard that you are, you just laughed at me!"

"I'm sorry my dear. Although, I have to assure you, you are very handsome with or without a hat," Aziraphale said, still smiling as he kissed Crowley's cheek tenderly.

At sunset, Crowley walked out of the park, holding his love's hand and his heart felt lighter in his chest than it had been in a long while. They ate at one of their favourite restaurants, a quiet place where they were sure to find the intimacy they needed. Crowley ate a few bites from Aziraphale's plate, they both drank a bit too much. Crowley felt good, almost happy. Tomorrow morning, he would have a difficult conversation with Aziraphale, but tonight, he allowed himself to simply enjoy his angel's company.

* * *

Crowley started unbuttoning his shirt, as quickly as his shaking fingers allowed.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began, but Crowley interrupted him.

"Please angel, shut up. I need you to see these." He was out of his shirt now, standing in front of Aziraphale.

The angel gasped at the sight of Crowley's chest, covered in deep scars. Down his sternum to his navel, along his ribs, on his thin hips. They still seemed painful despite looking old. Older than the world. From even before the Beginning. From that war, long ago. Crowley sat on the couch, exposing his back to Aziraphale. There were more scars there. There were more scars than skin. They created a ladder along his back, between each bump of Crowley's spine. Tentatively, Aziraphale traced one of them with his fingertips.

Crowley flinched, but before Aziraphale could take his hand away from Crowley's back, the redhead said, "it's alright, angel. It's alright."

The gentle touch felt weird, no one ever treated him with such reverence. No one ever traced his scars with such tenderness. Aziraphale had seen the marks left on him by the war and the Fall and yet, he still touched Crowley as if he was the most precious thing in the world. Not something hit and hurt and punish but something to love and worship.

There was a lump in Crowley's throat. He needed to speak, to let the words flow from his mouth, but it was like a flood, all the things he wanted to say wanted to come out at once after being tightly locked in his chest for so long. He remained silent a long moment, trying to sort out his thoughts in the right order. There was so much to say, it terrified him. Thankfully, Aziraphale remained silent, tracing soothing patterns on his back, patiently waiting for Crowley to be ready. He was always so patient with Crowley. Finally, Crowley cleared his throat and began talking.

"I don't know what they told you up there, but we remember everything. I remember everything. I remember the war." Crowley paused, taking a shuddering breath. "I don't remember you from Before. I'm glad I don't. I don't even want to think of what it would have done to me. Seeing you getting hurt. Maybe seeing the anger, the hatred in your eyes. Sometimes, I can't help wondering if you hated us. If you would have hated me." A tear made its way from Crowley's eye down his cheek. Aziraphale sneaked an arm around his chest, holding Crowley tight. His warm hand on Crowley's ribs felt so comforting, Crowley closed his eyes. "Memories from Heaven are a bit fuzzy. I don't remember much, except that I created stars, and I loved every second of it." That was a good memory, although it still brought a wave of sadness to Crowley. He had been happy then, carefree, so young and hopeful. It was all gone now, anyway. "I was too curious, I asked too many questions. The wrong questions. And I hung out with the wrong people in hopes they would give me the answers I desperately needed. Well, as you can imagine, they didn't. Not really. And She was never a very patient teacher," Crowley snorted, "She took curiosity for insubordination. And Her punishments were always harsh."

Crowley had to stop for a moment. It was always hard to think about that, about God, about how unforgiving She could be. There was a time where Crowley had hated Her with all his heart. Soon after the Fall, it was all he could feel. He was so full of hatred, there was no place for anything. He had learned to forgive Her, although, he still questioned Her, still disagreed with Her methods. But that was just how She was. Learning to love again, after he was sent to Earth, after he met Aziraphale, it had helped him get over the overwhelming loathing he felt.

"I remember the Fall, too," Crowley continued, his voice betraying how vulnerable he felt. He had kept all those things hidden in his heart for so long, and now, for the first time, he let them out in plain sight. He offered those words to his angel, to the only person who could listen to him, learn all those things about him and still love him afterward. "Sometimes, I remember it so vividly it hurts. It feels like it's happening all over again, like I'm reduced to an incandescent body, diving in boiling sulphur."

Crowley always said he had only sauntered vaguely downward. The truth was that he hadn't been ready to admit the reality of it, at least not out loud. Not to anyone else. But he could still feel the pain of it, in his soul and in his bones. The scars on his back and on his ribs were just the physical reminder of the violence of that event.

"I still remembered everything," he said, "how my wings have been torn to pieces, how my skin have been carbonised as I fell at the speed of light like a meteorite from Heaven, how it has been corroded by sulphur. My angelic body morphed to that of a snake, that had hurt, too. My spine had lengthened and lengthened until the stretch on my skin became too much and it was ripped apart. My eyes had burned too as they took their demonic form. I'm sorry," Crowley said, when Aziraphale rested his forehead between his shoulder blades. "I know it's a lot, don't hesitate to tell me if it gets too much." He knew Aziraphale wouldn't. Crowley wasn't sure he would even be able to stop talking. Now that he had started, it felt like inertia kept him going, revealing more and more information. "My beautiful, lush wings never recovered. They've been too damaged during the Fall, they remained fragile," Crowley continued, "The ache in my body never left either, every movement feels painful, but walking is the worst. It puts so much pressure on my spine that I've often thought I would simply collapse, that my bones would break, and I would have to slither on the ground like the snake I am."

Aziraphale took a quivering breath. Crowley knew he was crying, and yet, he never interrupted him. He listened, like he said he would so many times before. A part of Crowley hadn't believed him when he said it, when he promised to listen, to be there and to allow Crowley to let it all out. Crowley had always thought it would be too much for Aziraphale to take, that the angel would refuse to share such a burden, that he would prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of Crowley's suffering. He had been wrong. He often was. Aziraphale was listening. He was holding Crowley close to his chest, letting his warm provide some comfort to the demon he loved. Crowley was grateful, he wasn't sure he would have been able to listen to Aziraphale without interrupting him, to put his own pain aside and just be there for his love. But Aziraphale was strong, stronger than most thought. He felt Aziraphale's lips press a kiss on the base of his neck, right on one of his numerous scars, and it made him shiver with love and guilt. There was one more thing he needed to confess. It might be the hardest part to admit.

"Sometimes I-" Crowley choked on a sob. Aziraphale simply kissed his back again. He said so many things without any words. _I'm here for you. I'm listening. Take your time. We're going at your own pace. If you need to stop, if this is too much for you to say, I understand, don't hurt yourself. I love you._ But Crowley needed to keep talking. If he did not do it now, he wasn't sure he would ever find the strength to say those things. "Sometimes, when the memories of the Fall are getting too overwhelming, when it feels like I'm living it all again, sometimes I hate you. And I hate myself for hating you, because I love you, I love you with everything I am. But there's this- this dark part of me that can't help feeling jealous of you. And when you touch me, when I feel your skin, pure and holy on mine, I feel this surge of loathing and anger. Because you didn't fall. You weren't cast out. She still loves you."

Crowley was shaking, unable to breathe between his sobs. He needed another break. Aziraphale's arms were still wrapped tightly around him, his wet cheek resting on his shoulder blade. Crowley admitted to sometimes hating Aziraphale, and still, Aziraphale held only love and tenderness for him. It made him cry even harder. He wasn't worthy of such a pure, unconditional love. Surely, no one could be worthy of such a precious gift, and especially not a demon. But Aziraphale loved him regardless. It made his heart soar and shatter at the same time.

"And I love you, angel. You have to believe me, I love you so much." There was another kiss, to the back of his neck this time, and it said _I know, my love, I believe you._ "When you touch me, sometimes, it almost burns. And in those moments, all my mind knows is that you're an angel and that angels are dangerous, that they're the enemy. And then, when the wave retreats, when I'm no longer submerged by the feelings and the memories, I find the mug of cocoa you always make for me. And it feels like home. Like I'm being forgiven. And you're there, kind and patient, waiting for me to come back to you. And it makes me love you so much. But it hurts too because I feel like I don't deserve that. Like I don't deserve you. And I'm scared that one day, you'll have enough, and you'll leave."

Aziraphale's arms wrapped even tighter around Crowley's chest, bringing him flush against the angel's front. Aziraphale placed a tender kiss just behind Crowley's ear and he spoke for the first time.

"Didn't I already tell you?" he whispered in a trembling voice, "I'll always be there for you, whenever you need, in whatever way you need. I love you with my whole being, I'll never stop loving you, Crowley. I'll never leave. I swear to you, I'll never leave."

Crowley cried again, unable to hold back the tears. He had kept them inside for too long, now there was a flood in his soul. Crowley had opened the dam and now there was no way to close them again, everything would flow out. But it would be alright, because Aziraphale was still there, holding him tightly, telling him how much he was loved, how he was adored. Crowley cried until he fell asleep in Aziraphale's arms.

* * *

When Crowley woke up the next morning, he was still in Aziraphale's arms. But this time, he had his cheek on the angel's chest, right above his heart. There were fingers combing his hair, tenderly. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, simply basking in Aziraphale's love. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. The pain was still there, lingering. The familiar ache of his back, the pulsing pain of his soul, they hadn't disappeared. Maybe they never would. His mind was still haunted by memories he wished he could erase. But he wasn't alone. For the first time, someone understood. Someone who didn't make fun of his suffering, who wouldn't use it against himself. Someone who loved him and cared for him and wanted to help him carry this burden. And even though nothing had changed, it still changed everything. For the first time, Crowley didn't felt fear that Aziraphale would hate him or leave. He didn't feel this powerful wave of guilt and self-loathing. Aziraphale knew everything and still chose to stay, still chose to hold Crowley's hand and walk by his side, still chose to help him. Crowley smiled against Aziraphale's chest.

"Hello there," Aziraphale said softly, as if reluctant to lift the blanket of comfortable silence that still covered them. "How are you feeling today?"

Crowley thought a bit, the smile never leaving his thin lips. "I feel good. Better than I have in a very long time. That's all thanks to you, angel. My beautiful angel."

Aziraphale remained silent for a bit, running his hand through Crowley's hair before letting it wander down the demon's neck to his back, his fingertips reverently brushing the scarred skin. "I don't think I've had the occasion to tell you how beautiful you are, my dear," he said and Crowley had to lift his head and peer in those honest blue eyes to make sure he was saying the truth.

He still found it hard to believe, raising a sceptical eyebrow. How could Aziraphale still see beauty in him after he saw all those scars marking his skin. They were ugly, monstrous even. Disgusting. Crowley hated every centimetre of his skin, wanted to rip it off his bones, to pull it out with his one hands. And yet, Aziraphale still grazed loving fingers along the scars, he had pressed his plump lips against them, leaving tender kisses on his hateful skin.

"You're beautiful, my dear and those scars don't change anything to that fact." He moved them so that Crowley was lying on his back with Aziraphale hovering over him. "They're part of you, and I love them as such," he said as his fingers started tracing the scars on Crowley's ribs, making him shiver at the sheer tenderness of the gesture. "They're a testimony of everything you've been through, of all the cruelty and violence you were confronted to," Aziraphale said as he started kissing down the scar that lead to Crowley's navel. "They're an indelible proof of your strength and resilience. You survived all of this, you've been put through so much and yet, you still ended up becoming this amazing, lovely, brave, generous person." Aziraphale punctuated every compliment with a kiss down Crowley's scar. "I love you, my beautiful darling. You're gorgeous inside and out, and those scars on your skin and on your soul don't do anything to reduce your beauty."

Crowley was crying again, because Aziraphale's tenderness was too much for his battered heart. But he knew he needed this, he needed the love, the gentleness, the kind words and the kisses. Because Aziraphale meant every word and every gesture with his whole being. He was honest and he loved Crowley.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley in a tight embrace, holding him close until his eyes ran dry and his body stopped shaking. "Thank you, my love. Thank you for trusting me. You're very brave and I can't even begin to tell you how grateful and proud I am that you accepted to open up to me. I promise you, I won't betray the trust you placed in me."

And Crowley believed him, with his whole being, he believed Aziraphale's words.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said in a small voice, "Can I… uhmmmm, can I ask for a favour?"

"Of course, my dear. Anything you want." Aziraphale kissed Crowley's forehead in encouragement.

"Ngk," Crowley said, flustered, "I'd like to feel your skin against my skin. If you're alright with that, of course."

They had never done that before, whenever they slept in the same bed, they always wore pyjamas. Before the previous day, Aziraphale had never seen Crowley shirtless and Crowley had yet to lay his eyes on Aziraphale's bare chest. They both had been too insecure, imprisoned in their own self-loathing and doubt. But things had changed and Aziraphale didn't want to hide from Crowley's gaze anymore. Not after Crowley showed him the scared skin he was so ashamed of. With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale's shirt, waistcoat and bowtie were gone and he pulled Crowley tightly against him.

"Let me look at you first, please," Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked away but nodded nonetheless, lying on his back to allow Crowley's eyes to wander from his face to his belly. He felt very self-conscious, but after all, Crowley had exposed himself to Aziraphale's eyes, it was only fair to allow him to do the same now. Crowley's lips kissed a trail down Aziraphale's chest. His hands kneaded the soft flesh of Aziraphale's sides as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on Aziraphale's stomach and down to the waistband of his trousers.

"You're so beautiful, angel. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Your skin is so soft and warm. I love every centimetre of your body, Aziraphale. There's nothing to hide, but I'm glad to be the only one allowed to look at you like this." Crowley smirked before leaving one last kiss on Aziraphale's sternum before lying down with his head on Aziraphale's bare chest.

They spent most of the day like this, sharing affection and body warm. It was something new, something found through pain and tears. But it was worth it. It had been worth it to open up, to show weakness and vulnerability. Crowley was glad he finally said everything that weighed on his chest for so long. He felt young again, full of life and full of hope for the future. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. He was happy. There were still shadows in his mind and his eyes were still veiled by the memories of the things he went through. Perhaps this would never change. But he had the unconditional love and support of his angel to help him move forward. And if he tripped along the road, he knew Aziraphale would be there to help him back on his feet. And now he knew without a doubt that Aziraphale would let Crowley help him too, with whatever burden he had to carry on his own, and he would be allowed to kiss the scars Heaven left on his soul.


End file.
